


The Adventures of the Maximoffs

by AnontheNullifier



Series: The Maximoffs [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Billy and Tommy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Scarlet Vision, Maximoff family, Occasional angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Wanda and Vision encounter the ups and downs of being parents and Avengers.**Sequel to What to Expect, but you don't have to have actually read that one first.





	1. The First Night at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision struggle with their first night at home with the twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd be back here, but I really couldn't stay away from the Maximoffs. This is technically a sequel to my story What to Expect, but I am writing it in a way that you don't have to have read that one to understand this one (though you are certainly welcome to read it!). This is going to examine the different facets of parenthood, some chapters focusing on the entire family, others on just Wanda and Vision, others on either parent and the twins, one parent/one twin etc.. Just like with What to Expect this is going to be a realistic (i.e. fluff, angst, and humor) look at family life.
> 
> As with my other series, if you ever have any prompts/requests/suggestions, I'm happy to hear them. I love the challenge :)
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!!

It is exactly fifty-six steps from the foot of the bed where Wanda sleeps to the side of the crib currently housing the twins. Vision knows this because he has walked it exactly eighteen times already and they have only been asleep for twenty minutes, thirty-five seconds, and twenty-six, no twenty-seven milliseconds. Phasing from the bathroom into the nursery would save him roughly thirteen steps but he made the unfortunate discovery that the movement of his body through the wall stirs the air around the stars hanging from the ceiling and startles both boys awake. So he must consciously remember to use the door as he steps quietly into the nursery, shifting his density until he is partially incorporeal, the wooden plank under the carpet that is closest to the crib has an annoying tendency to squeak with too much pressure.

Even though the master bedroom has a monitor transmitting from the camera he so carefully hung on the wall, angling it for the optimal view of the crib, he finds that every time he checks the monitor he is only able to confirm the twins have not left the crib. What the monitor lacks is enough clarity to zoom in close enough to determine the rise and fall of the boys’ chests. Thus he finds himself trekking between the rooms.

Slowly he approaches the crib, pupils dilating with a subtle click as he assesses the current status of their slumber. Their tiny bodies are wrapped tightly in the velcro-reinforced (and helpfully monogrammed for easy identification) swaddles Natasha gifted them that are essentially tiny straight jackets for babies. Billy fussed initially, elbows weakly fighting against the constraints but as soon as Wanda began rocking him, humming a rolling Sokovian lullaby, his body went limp. Tommy, on the other hand, screamed until Vision finished adhering the velcro, and then, once the snugness of the swaddle and the warmth of the delicate fleece was in place, he calmed instantly, eyelids growing heavy and breath slowing into a steady rhythm. Now they lay side by side and Vision is fairly certain he can see the intake and exhale of breath, but, his feet shuffle a bit more forward, he’d rather be sure, and so he reaches out his hand and brings it to hover just above Billy’s mouth. The brush of air is welcome against his skin. Satisfied that one child is alive he moves his hand towards Tommy’s mouth, smiling when shallow, hot breath crashes against his palm.

“Still alive?”

The voice startles him, sympathetic nervous system activating in under a second as his body prepares to fight off the intruder, but then a hand to his back and a kiss to his shoulder kickstarts his parasympathetic system, easing him back into a relative calm as he turns to lay a kiss on Wanda’s head. “Still alive.”

Her arms snake around his torso, fingers gripping the waistband of his sweatpants as she pulls his body closer. “You’re being too paranoid, nothing’s going,” a yawn cuts off her sentence, face coming to rest against his chest so that the rhythm of her next words whip across his bare skin, “to happen. Come back to bed and please,” her arms tighten in emphasis, “stop pacing, it’s driving me crazy.”

Vision finds himself torn at the request, fingers absently running from the roots of her hair down to the tips as he contemplates his response. “My apologies, I am quite restless.”

“No shit.”

“Language Wanda, we have children now.”

The soft, exhausted chuckle tugs at the corners of his mouth, a playful smack to his side accompanying her “Shut up, Steve.” She pulls on his body until his feet respond, arm wrapping around her shoulders to help support her slow and hesitant steps, worry building in his mind at the way she winces when she takes too long of a stride. When Wanda walks with him the trip is seventy-four and a half steps. “Can you,” they stop at the edge of the bed, the mound of pillows he had so recently built up for her decimated and spread across the floor, “help me again?”

“Of course.”  Her palms press hard into his chest as he helps lift her onto the mattress, hands skimming along her legs until he reaches her knees, hooking his fingers and swinging her lower body until she is straight on the bed. “Pillows the same as last time?”

“Please.” Which means he wedges one between her thighs, one under her ankles, one half under her neck and shoulder, and the last along her stomach. The pressure of fingers curling around his wrist brings his gaze back to her doleful, pleading eyes. “Can you actually stay this time? I’ll even bring,” the monitor floats across the bed, over his head and her body, until it comes to rest on the nightstand across from her face, the black-and-white image of their sleeping twins clear on the screen, “this over here so we can both see.”  

Vision smiles down at her, hand brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, leaning down to brush his lips against the newly revealed skin. “Of course.”  He walks through the mattress, re-solidifying his body once he reaches his side of the bed. Slowly and deliberately, so as not to disturb her comfort, he lays his head on the free corner of pillow next to Wanda’s head, legs stretching until the balls of his feet push against the wooden frame of the bed, and he drapes his arm around her middle, fingers splayed across her stomach. “Sleep well.” A shift forward allows him to press a kiss to her neck, heart singing at the barely audible sigh from her lips and the way her body shivers when he pulls away. He closes his eyes, toying with the idea that perhaps one day he’ll sleep, but all that he is accomplishing is a few seconds where he wars against his desire to sit up and stare at the monitor again.

“Vizh?”

His eyes pop open, arm tightening to draw her closer, “Is everything okay?”

An uncertain silence hangs in the air causing him to shift onto his elbow, eyes studying the profile of her face, her eyes flicking to the side to glance at him before she sighs and turns onto her back. “They haven’t moved, do you,” she hesitates, “think they’re okay? Should we check on them again?” Silence resumes between them, only this time taking on a much different quality as he attempts to determine the best response. Before he can speak, Wanda brings a hand to rub at her eyes as her mouth forms an embarrassed arc, “Maximoff, put away the I-told-you-so eyes.”

“I would never utter such a phrase.”

“Still counts if you think it.”  

Vision laughs, not denying the accusation which earns him an exaggerated eye roll, and he bends down to kiss her once more, relishing the way her fingers cup his neck to keep him in place before he phases through the bed.  Once he is standing next to her, he reaches out his hands to help her out of the pillow cage he so perfectly crafted. They proceed to take the seventy-four and a half steps back to the crib, where Wanda leans forward, the board creaking under her feet, and lays her hands on each of the boys’ chests, smile growing at the subtle lift and fall of their breathing. It is clear that the current set-up of their family is not conducive to a restful evening, even for his own sleepless life. A quick search of solutions reveals a compelling and quite easy fix. “Wanda, it appears that the American Academy of Pediatrics suggests infants sleep in the same room as the parents for at least the first six months, perhaps-”

“Yeah,” she nods, hair swaying in a mesmerizing pattern as she bends forward to check on the twins again. “Yeah, I think that would help a lot.”

“I believe the Bartons gifted us a travel crib, I can set it up in our room.”  Another nod of assent greets his words and he steps out of the nursery, turning to take in the image of Wanda standing in the room, fingertips trailing along the top rail of the crib, eyes soft, and a beautiful, graceful smile on her lips, before phasing down through the house into the basement. Thanks to his obsessive cataloguing of the location of every item in the house, he finds the box containing the travel crib in under a minute, gripping it in his fingers as he travels back up into the master bedroom.

Vision opens the box, eyes scanning each item he removes from the packaging, unfolding the instructions and smoothing out the creases so he can assess the steps, organizing each piece into the appropriate pile. The first step requires he set up the base of the crib, a crab-like folded up structure that wobbles and then collapses into itself when he tries to stand it up. Three more tries and he frowns at the unstable structure. “Hmm.” His fingers skim over the instructions. “Oh, yes, I see now.” Vision grips the edges of the base, snapping the rail into place on the short ends and then doing the same to the side rails, phasing his arm through the mesh sides to push the middle portion down until it is rigid. Now it looks like a crib, of sorts. Next he picks up a mesh basket, plastic clips lining the outer edges that he snaps into place before laying a trifolded, padded mattress down. He steps back, eying the contraption, scanning the joints and assessing the stability, calculating how the combined weight of the twins might impact the give of the mesh cradle holding the mattress. Gently he reaches out and shakes the crib, feeling more at ease when it doesn’t crumble up and fall down.

Satisfied he walks back to the nursery. “Wanda,” he whispers her name, drawing her attention away from the sleeping infants, “it is ready.” When Wanda doesn’t waver from her vigil, Vision joins her in staring at the twins, Tommy somehow managed to tilt onto his side, head resting against Billy’s shoulder, and he finds himself worried that moving them now goes against the number two rule of having children: Never disrupt their sleep. “Do we-”

“I don’t know, Vizh.” Hesitantly Wanda rises up on the tips of her toes in order to reach inside the crib, sliding her hands under Tommy, one below his neck the other under his bottom. The instant she touches him he flinches, a pathetic and upset whimper causing Wanda to pause in her movements. “Do you,” she lowers her voice to the point that he needs to boost his auditory receptors and lean down so that his face is level with hers in order to make out all of the words, “remember the hot potato mission?”

It was one of their first missions as a couple, though at the time the team was not aware of their relationship, and involved the removal of hazardous and highly unstable radioactive tubes. Sam insisted on calling it the hot potato mission but even to this day Vision finds it difficult to understand why, never inquiring as it seemed to make inherent sense to everyone else. He realizes his thoughts have strayed from the intended meaning of bringing up the mission and so he works backwards until he has the image of Wanda cradling a glowing tube in her heavily padded hazard suit and the intense, disquieting fear he had watching her walk slowly across uneven ground. “Are you suggesting they are equally as volatile or more volatile than the radioactive substance?”

Wanda carefully shifts Tommy, supporting his weight fully now and then stops at the sharp, high-pitched angry cry that comes from his mouth. Their worried eyes travel to Billy who continues to sleep. “More. I really need you to talk me out of this before I wake him up.”

“Well,” every argument clicks through his mind, each one garnering the same weight of thought and consideration, and yet he’s not certain which way he falls. “It is deeply illogical to move them while asleep.” Wanda nods in agreement, lowering the baby back towards the mattress. “But,” she stops, turning confused and intrigued eyes towards him, “though illogical now, the logic of having them in the room is flawless. We could wait until they awaken next but if that is not for several hours then you will not be able to sleep. If, however, we move them and they stay asleep then you will rest. If we move them and they rouse, then you would still be lacking the same amount of sleep as you would if we wait.”

“So…?”

Vision finds himself shrugging as he continues, embracing the emotionally driven side of the argument more than the logical one to reach his final conclusion, “I would be more at ease to have all three of you in the same location.

“Hot potato it is.” A slow, calming exhale precedes the quickness she uses to snatch Tommy up and into her chest, a soothing _shhh_ and the sway of her body miraculously keeping him asleep. Which means it is Vision’s turn, arms trembling slightly as he follows Wanda’s lead, placing his hands under Billy’s head and bottom, not hesitating in picking him up and bringing him firmly against his chest. “Nice job.”

“You as well.” Slowly they shuffle to the bedroom, this trip taking a meandering ninety-six steps, and ease the boys into the travel crib located right next to the bed. Once the mission is successful with no explosions of tears or thrashing of bodies, Vision aids Wanda back into bed, repeating the same process of the pillows and snuggling close behind her, the very clear sound of tiny breaths and the motion of equally tiny chests rising and falling much more reassuring than the static image on the monitor. Within minutes he even feels Wanda’s muscles relax, breath elongating into the song of her slumber. It is the most serene moment they have had in three days.

This serenity, however, lasts for all of fifteen minutes before Billy erupts in a tearful, panicked cry followed almost immediately by Tommy, and then Wanda’s drawn out, defeated “Nooo” joins the chorus of unhappiness.

At the hospital they devised a plan for such wakings, Wanda remaining in bed to feed the boys and Vision changing the diaper of the baby currently not eating. Though they hadn’t discussed the continuance of the plan, Vision determines to follow it regardless, phasing through the bed until he is able to lift Tommy. He attempts a “Shhh” and a light bounce to settle the crying but finds it only intensifying.

“Here, I’ll take him,” Wanda reaches her hands out, a pillow already balanced on her lap and nursing camisole unclipped.

Tommy is transferred to Wanda, Vision moving the pillows from her legs up behind her head for greater support “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

Vision picks up Billy, cradling him in his arms, turning to look back at the bed before leaving the room. “I will be back, let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do.”  Vision leaves, noting the soft gasp and muffled cry of Wanda, divising that it means Tommy successfully latched.  The concern bubbling up in Vision at the sound has to be clamped down or else he knows he’ll journey back to check on her and not accomplish his end of the mission. So he keeps walking, developing a slightly exaggerated bend in his knees as he bounces on every other step, the movement seeming to keep the crying at bay. But, unfortunately, Billy is wholly unhappy when the swaddle is removed and Vision unsnaps the legs of the monster-footed pajamas, the late evening air no doubt cold against such fresh skin. “William, this is not necessary,” the reasoning has yet to work, thin, pale legs flailing along with the upset wails, eyes scrunched and fingers gripped into fists as the diaper is removed, the diaper cream applied, and the new diaper is fastened into place. “William…” Vision whispers the name, hoping his plea will be heard as his fingers struggle to close the annoying number of snaps lining both legs of the pajamas, whoever designed the garment clearly not understanding the mechanics of an upset child and the dexterity of a tired parent. “William I am almost done if you would cease this behavior I would be able to complete the task much faster.” One day, he figures, such words will make a difference, hopefully, but it is clearly not today as he wrestles Billy’s limbs.

Once Billy is re-swaddled (a relieved sigh exiting unannounced from Vision’s mouth) they head back to the bedroom, standing awkwardly to the side watching as Wanda strokes Tommy’s cheek, tears still fresh on her face but a brief reassuring smile flashed towards him a sign that he doesn’t need to interfere right now. After several minutes they switch, Vision balancing Billy against his chest as Wanda places Tommy into the crook of his other arm before grabbing Billy. Luckily Tommy sleeps through the diaper change and is easily transferred back to the travel crib, joined shortly by Billy.

All is quiet again.

Unfortunately the process repeats itself every 57 minutes, almost on the dot, all night. Cry, feed, change, rock, rest, cry, feed change, rock, rest. It is exhausting for Vision and he cannot comprehend how Wanda must feel (though her pained groans and insistent “I’m dying, Vizh, dying” offers a small glimpse into her experience).

Vision contemplates the experience during each 57 minute period of calm, coming to the conclusion that one, they most definitely took for granted the almost omnipresent nursing staff at the hospital who would often change diapers whenever they stopped by or rock the babies back to sleep to allow them a chance to breathe. That they allowed this to lull them into an exaggerated sense of efficacy in dealing with the twins. And two, it’s almost as jarring of a culture shock as it was to emerge from the cradle, only this time Wanda is just as confused as he is with the expectations.

 

When the sun begins to peek into the room, slivers of pale white glinting off the stars hanging in the nursery, Vision is re-velcroing Tommy’s swaddle, a proud “Good job, Thomas,” reinforcing his gratefulness that his son slept through the diaper change yet again. Leisurely he takes the fifty-six steps back, feet stopping on step forty-eight as an affectionate smile pushes his cheeks up.  Wanda is fast asleep, head haphazardly leaned against the pile of pillows behind her, a quiet, relaxed snore filling the room and mixing with the almost inaudible breathing of Billy curled against her body, asleep as well with one hand out of the swaddle and resting against her chest. It is the most relaxed he has seen her in months, all weariness falling away from her face with each snore. She is, unsurprisingly, stunning.  

Vision shifts his density, feet so light there is no sound as he tiptoes to the crib, kissing Thomas on the forehead before laying him down. He then swivels towards the bed, gliding just above the floor until he reaches the edge of the mattress. Delicately he rearranges the bedsheet to cover Wanda’s exposed chest, certain she’d not appreciate his next action if he didn’t, and then he steps back, phone raised in his hand. After triple checking that the sound and flash are off, he takes a picture of the entire room, Tommy in the crib and Wanda and Billy in bed.

Despite the exhaustion from the never-ending theatrics of the night, he finds himself basking in the odd, impossible turns of his life, lips rising ever so slowly into what must be an idiotic grin. If Wanda was awake she’d likely roll her eyes and throw a pillow at his face. But she’s not and so he allows himself this luxury, committing every single detail to memory so he can easily recall this feeling during what will likely be a lifetime of challenges and continued exhaustion, but all tempered by this blooming warmth in his chest, of the joy he feels so profoundly right now.

This is _his_ family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now off on two-ish week break because my son and I are taking a 30 hour solo road trip to see my parents. I look forward to posting new stuff when I get back and reading everything that is posted while I'm gone.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful day!


	2. An Identity Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision have to find an answer to the big question: How do you tell twins apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out!! I got a bit sidetracked with Scarlet Vision Appreciation Day last week. I'm also having some trouble deciding the exact tone I want for this story series and just how much detail to include. I think I've decided to just do some chapters a bit more lighthearted and others far more serious. We'll see :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

There is a soothing purity in the rush of scalding water over skin and the way it incinerates the grime of life. It is why Wanda remains standing under the water, skin developing blotches of pink and the steam clouding up the glass, even though she long ago finished the necessities of her shower. Her tricep tightens as she raises arm straight out to the side, palm braced against the wall as she rotates her body to place her back into the water.  

The last time she opened her eyes she could still see the faint hue of blood swirling into the drain, a constant in her life right now, but, as Vision keeps calmly reminding her, it has been less than a week and Dr. Wadan was clear that 10 days was the soonest it would stop. Wanda guiltily opens her eyes at the thought of her husband, attempting to figure out how long she’s been in the shower, but, with no indication of time other than the wrinkles on the pads of her fingers, she finds herself lost.  A soft glow of scarlet around her hand and the flick of her fingers serves to amplify the mental links she keeps with her family, refusing to cut off the reassuring stir of their minds even though she is utterly exhausted, having gotten no more than a 2 hour stretch of solid sleep since the twins were born.

Wanda bends her elbow, leaning her head against the wall as she reads the twins. They have no distinct thoughts yet, their world far too new and language acquisition not happening anytime soon, but they do recognize and differentiate voices and heartbeats, the temperature of skin and the brush of fingers. They also experience emotion, instinctual and basic, yet complicated by the fact even their minds can’t elucidate why they are angry or what is causing them sadness, just simply that they feel and feel it so fully it encompasses every single ounce of their tiny bodies. Like right now, both of them are practically glowing with joy, one just a bit more gleeful than the other, but no indication as to the cause. It’s probably because they are with Vision, which brings a tender smile to her face as she switches to his organized, logical and, Wanda pauses as her smile freezes, completely overwhelmed and panicking mind.

Reluctantly she turns off the shower, fingers working the excess water from her hair as she steps onto the bath mat, toes curling into the plush tufts of fabric as she wraps a towel around her hair and another around her body. A grimace and a quiet groan occur in time with the movements of her morning routine, muscles aching as she gently pulls on a pair of the super unsexy disposable adult diapers Vision insisted (rightly so, though her dignity will never allow her to admit it to him) on ordering from Amazon while she was still pregnant. There is also an uncomfortable and strange tug of pain between her legs that she tries desperately to ignore, instead focusing on securing the knot of her robe and squeezing the last of the water from her hair before dropping the towel on the floor. Wanda reaches out to Vision’s mind again, the panic far more palpable and mixing with a frenzied confusion.

First she checks the nursery and finds it empty. Wanda starts moving down the hallway again but stops, pivoting her body back toward the room, perplexed at the bright sunlight filling every corner, the curtains missing along with the changing pad cover, the fleece blanket that should be hanging on the crib, and the crib sheets. “Weird.” There is no reason for them to be in the other room on this floor and so she slowly climbs down the stairs, clenching her teeth with each excruciating step. “Vizh?”

Instantly his mind fills with a false calm, the prior panic and confusion locked away from her prying reach as he raises his voice to the exact volume needed for her to hear him but for it to not be a yell, “In the kitchen.” Which is mostly true.  Billy and Tommy are in the kitchen, each reclined in individual, motorized swings, their movements synchronized perfectly, something Wanda hasn’t been able to achieve, but it also doesn’t bother her (unlike it does her husband) if the timing is off. Vision, however, is in the adjacent room, intently studying the label of a detergent bottle.

“Um, Vision?”

Despite the perfectly good, extremely open doorway leading to the laundry room, Vision’s head pops out of the wall, eyes wide, irises turning in a slightly faster than usual tempo accompanying the nervous edge to his voice. “Wanda?”

“Two things.” She finds her hand lifting unconsciously, index and middle finger parting into a v to make it clear there are two items of concern. “One,” Wanda’s middle finger tucks back into her palm, “you’re doing laundry.” The now solo index finger tips forward, pointing at the bottle of detergent clutched in his fingers.

Vision follows her movement, glancing at the bottle before shifting it back through the wall. “I am. How was your shower?”

Wanda gives a simple, “Fine,” and a wave of her finger, dismissing his attempts to distract her. “You never do laundry.” An agreement they reached early on in their pre-relationship friendship because Vision has no need to wash his clothing and the one time he tried to be helpful and do her laundry while she was on a mission ended with a day out shopping to rebuild her ruined wardrobe.  “What happened?”

“We had,” his eyes slide past her to the boys, gurgling happily in their swings, “an incident.”

“How ominous.”  

The smallest of smiles ghosts along his lips. “William required a diaper change and so I determined it a fortuitous time to also change Thomas. Once I had removed the diaper he,” the story stops with a disapproving shake of his head, irises spinning in horrified remembrance and Wanda is fairly certain she knows where this is going but stays silent, “well he decided it to be the opportune moment to relieve himself...everywhere.”

The one parenting book Wanda finally read towards the end of the pregnancy encouraged couples to empathize and form a strong, supportive team. The appropriate response should be a gentle _How horrible_ but that’s not in her repertoire. What she’d much rather do right now is laugh but there is a far bigger concern on her mind than reveling in his misfortune (which she will most certainly do later), so she settles for a smirk. “Lovely. Two,” her middle finger perks pack up, reforming the initial v and directing all of the attention to the twins peacefully swaying back and forth. “Which one is Tommy?" 

Vision’s response is quick, automatic, and dismissive, “He has the train blanket.”  

“Does he now?” Wanda watches as the realization dawns slowly on Vision’s face, starting first with the pucker of confusion on his lips at the semi-amused, semi-irritated cross of her arms, morphing into raised brows and wide eyes as he follows her pointed gaze to the twins, and then solidifying into abject horror, his heart and mind stopping simultaneously as his irises click twice to the right.

Together they stare at the babies, both wrapped only in identical train blankets.

They had it all planned, trains for Tommy, boats for Billy (though Vision wanted to use a duck blanket calling it waterfowl), monogrammed hats, blankets, and onesies, all seemingly gone, tossed into the blackhole of the washing machine. What’s funny (or at least will be tomorrow, she’s sure) is that they both silently assumed the misstep would come from her, though given the entirety of their lives together, nothing should surprise them anymore. But still, she figured it would take more time for their carefully laid plans to unravel, not six days. Six very long, very draining days.

What feels like an excruciating eternity passes before Vision’s mind clicks back into gear, the slow, steady chug of logic sorting through the different clues. “I believe,” he hesitates, eyes narrowing while he studies the infants, “Tommy is on the right.”

“You sure?”

The gears grind to a halt, an ember of uncertainty fanned back to life by his whirling thoughts as he finishes phasing through the wall to join her in front of the twins. He whispers an apologetic, “No,” arms crossing over his chest, mimicking her own contemplative stance. “Do you know?”

Wanda shrugs. “Maybe?” Another flick of her wrist intensifies her connection to the twins, her mind immediately lulled by the rolling ocean of happiness they are experiencing, the swells swaying in time to the rhythm of the swing. But it’s not particularly helpful, their oceans identical, at least as far as she can tell.  “Here,” Wanda’s fingers curl into a fist, grasping at the invisible tether connected to Vision’s mind, tugging it slightly until his thoughts coalesce with her own so that he can share her experience and ease of access with the twins. “Can you pick up any differences?”

Vision becomes a sentinel, muscles taut, head dipping to the side as his eyes close in concentration. The longer he remains connected with the boys the more his concern fades away, a faint smile on his face and an undercurrent of wonder deep in his own mind, a bliss she finds herself getting lost in until he speaks. “One is faster than the other.”

“Really?” Wanda clamps her eyes shut, pushing through the fog of exhaustion just a bit more, guided by Vision’s golden presence acting as an arrow and a _look here_ sign. Once she’s able to concentrate fully on parsing out the oceans, watching the waves rise and crash individually before comparing them again she determines that, unsurprisingly, he’s right, there is a minuscule difference, no more than a slightly wilder pulse between thoughts. “So…”

“It is a useless observance if it we cannot determine the correct child.”

“Love your optimism, Maximoff.” Which is rewarded with an exasperated, yet slightly entertained smirk. “What about the finger thing?”

“The finger- oh,” Vision pauses, thoughts catching up to her own and replaying the memory from the hospital. His voice carries a touch of hope as he evaluates the suggestion. “It is an intriguing possibility but is predicated on the assumption only Billy is capable of such molecular manipulation.” She watches as Vision steps towards the swings, slowly crouching until his head is roughly even with the boys’ faces. The way he speaks to them ignites her soul with delight, her heart always developing a lively Charleston at how he treats them more as tiny people than babies, his soft, amiable, “Hello there,” no different than if he were to pass Sam in the hallway. Though, at least as far as she knows, Sam does not elicit the same depth of love. Vision extends his finger to the baby on the right, waving it enticingly over his face. When nothing happens he dips his hand to touch the tiny, clenched fist resting on the blanket, but still gets no response.

Wanda brushes her hand reassuringly along his back. “You’ve complained that Tommy never grabs your finger, maybe that’s him.”

Another uptick of hope in his voice, “True.” He shifts his weight to the left, an adorable and posh “Hello,” and outstretched finger given as an offering to the other baby. A dribble of spit up forms at the corner of their son’s mouth, but his hands do not move. Vision attempts a new technique, shoulders lifting into a static shrug as he extends his hands out, one finger above each of their sons, phasing his hands quickly to form a tempting shimmer in the air. Nothing happens other than a ripple of joy in their minds followed by Vision’s defeated sigh as he stands up, hands clasped and shoulders slumped. “Perhaps I should make some tea.”

“I’d love some, thanks.” As Vision walks through the kitchen island, a habit she hopes neither of the boys develop (or are capable of developing, the notion of phasing toddlers absolutely terrifying), she steps closer to the swings, wincing while she bends down to study the twins. Experimentally she reaches her hands out and is immediately met with the sensation of tiny fingers wrapping around her own, an amused slant developing on her mouth and a whispered “Troublemakers.” A steady exhale helps her block the pain as she stands back up, the initial burst of discomfort fading as she settles her body onto a stool, eyes never leaving the deviously innocent faces of their sons. “So what happens if we can’t, you know, figure it out?”

All noise behind her stops and she imagines that if she were to turn around she’d find Vision tight-lipped with a tea pot raised in the air as he thinks. “There has to be a solution.”

“Yeah, we could just rename them right now, no one would ever have to know.” Now she can feel his glare against her back, which only intensifies when she laughs. “Lighten up, Maximoff.”

“It is not humorous.” The sounds of tea being made overtake the kitchen, the steady flicker of fire caressing the bottom of the ceramic pot, the crunch of leaves shoved into the steeping basket, and the clink of porcelain as he readies her cup. It is a ritual that she relinquished to him years ago, a meditative exercise that he claims aids him in problem solving. Wanda just really enjoys drinking tea. “Does this,” Wanda turns away from the babies, eyes locking on to Vision as his cheeks puff up before deflating with a loud, sad sigh, “make us bad parents? We should not be in this predicament.” Though he says _us_ and _we_ , the actual thoughts bouncing around his mind are _Does this make me a bad parent? I should not have allowed this to happen._

A whip of scarlet emerges from her hand, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him through the kitchen island until he is close enough for her to reach out and rest her palm against his chest. “Vision,” Wanda waits until he makes eye contact, “if this is the worst thing we end up doing to them, we’ll go down as saints.”  

“But Wa-”

“No,” she rubs a circle into his chest, centering her motion over his heart, “no excuses. You,” Wanda tries to tell herself now is not the time, but a burst of laughter cuts off her words, “You had a traumatic experience today, I think some leeway can be given for overzealously doing laundry.” Finally a hairline fracture of amusement forms on his face. “Now,” a touch to his cheek encourages him down for a brief, inspirational kiss, “use that beautiful, logical head of yours and figure this out.”

The fracture turns into a distinct smile which then fades into contemplation, his hand rising up as if reaching for ideas in the air. “I have two ideas.”

“Okay, let’s hear them.”

Vision nods, squaring up his shoulders as he begins his explanation. “First, perhaps we examine them closer, determine if there are any physical differentiations between them. If we locate any we can easily cross check this information with images from the hospital.”

“They’re identical twins, Vizh.”

And instantly she knows she’s wrong, his raised finger of information popping up, signalling she is about to learn new facts based on whatever scientific research he is currently accessing. “There is ample evidence that suggests physical differences can occur based upon environmental factors surrounding the labor. Their genetics may be identical, but their labors were not.”

“Fair enough, what’s the second option?” Vision briefly glances down at her chest and the implication is clear. “Oh no, no, no, it can’t be time for them to eat yet.” Which may or may not be true, Vision tends to be the one that obsessively tracks the intervals between feedings and even without him doing so the boys are quite good at letting her know when they’re hungry. But Vision does not relent, and the realization causes Wanda to shudder, wincing merely at the thought, a throbbing ache in her chest and tears already pooling in the corners of her eyes.

The stool scratches against the wooden floor as Vision sits down, her eyes focusing on the metal leg of the stool until it is blocked by gray trousers. Hands cup her face, drawing it up and forcing her to reckon with the soothing, adoring, and perennially worried whirl of blue irises. “It has been two hours and they are getting restless.” Both of them turn to watch the squirming bodies in the swings, the tell-tale lines of displeasure starting to form around their mouths which means crying is about to happen any second. “Wanda,” the apologetic lilt of his voice only makes her feel guilty, ashamed that she requires a pep talk every time, “it will get easier." 

“Says the man with no nipples.” 

“I have offered to attempt to alter my physiology.”

Wanda laughs through her tears, “And I said no, that’d be really weird.” Unfortunately she recognizes that this is actually the most logical solution because what Vision is refusing to say is that she cries much harder whenever Tommy eats than Billy, something they told her at the hospital had to do with an inappropriate latch. “Fine. Fine.”  

Slowly Wanda shuffles to the couch, bracing her hands on the armrest and the cushion as she lowers her body, painfully crossing her legs in front of her. A wave of her fingers envelopes a crescent shaped pillow, hovering it across the room until she can grab it with her hands and wrap it around her stomach. As Vision walks over, cradling the first baby, Wanda snaps the clip of her shirt and sucks in a breath at the uncomfortable touch of air against her chest. “Are you ready?”

“Nope.” Vision offers a tight smile as he passes her the baby, his hands helping to guide the small, flailing, open mouthed head in the right direction. “Wait,” all motion stops and Vision levels a curious stare at her, “which one do you think this is? If you get it right, I’ll change the diapers for the rest of the day, wrong, and you get the honor.” 

“An alluring and yet terrifying bet.” Calmly he runs a finger along the baby’s arm, bending to examine the smooth, slightly pink skin of his back, a spark of interest leaping from his mind to hers before a smile spreads eagerly on Vision’s face. “I believe this one is Billy and if I am correct, it is imperative to note he has birthmark just under his right armpit and his is the faster mind.”  

Wanda reaches over the baby, extending her hand out to Vision. “Shake on it?” With a shrug he wraps his fingers around her hand, two solid shakes sealing one of their fates. As Vision glides back into the kitchen, the other twin loudly demanding to be picked up as well, Wanda inhales deeply, hand laying against the back of Billy’s (or maybe Tommy’s) head as she guides him. A muffled scream erupts from her mouth at the searing pain, her eyes closing tightly in their valiant effort to fight back the tears as she cycles through loud and forceful breaths.

Within seconds fingers comb soothingly through her hair, lips soft on her cheek as Vision whispers his usual mantra of, “You are doing wonderfully.”

“Guess,” she breathes out, centering her mind on the pattern of his fingers roaming up and down her neck, journeying along her shoulders and then re-treading the path again, “who,” finally she opens her eyes and beams up at the way his loving pride in her fades into crestfallen realization, two times in one day she’s seen this transition and it warms her heart far more than it should, “is on diaper duty?”  

A drawn out sigh and weak, “Me,” evokes a giddiness deep within her chest. Just to be sure, Vision pulls his hand away from her back, hanging his finger above the infant in his arms and is finally rewarded with a tiny handshake. Together they watch as the skin of Billy’s hand deepens into the same red as Vision and then flashes back to its usual pallid color. “Your timing, William, is impeccable.”

“Hey,” a very carefully planned lean of her body bumps their shoulders together, “At least we figured it out? Right?”

“Correct.”

Wanda lifts her free hand and holds it out to Vision, giving him the required pointed nod to indicate she wants a high-five and not for him to grab her hand. “A-plus parenting.” Their palms connect and the relieved smile that finally forms on his face helps to shatter the tension in the room. “So…” Wanda grins at him, arm wrapping back around Tommy so he doesn’t slide off the pillow, and this time she doesn’t even attempt to hide the merriment in her voice, “when you said Tommy peed everywhere, define everywhere?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a quick question for you all, Billy and Tommy are identical twins right? Everything I've found seems to indicate that but at the same time they have different powers. Which I'll figure out how to handle around the time I determine why Tommy has white hair. Just wanted to make sure I'm not wrong. If I am, I'll happily change this chapter to reflect it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, comments and kudos always deeply appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful day!!


	3. Heroic Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit leads to both a team get-together and a competition of gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one kind of snowballed into a freakishly long chapter. I should really just expect that by now.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“How’s the view down there?”

Vision cranes his head up, identifying the key points of tension in the muscles at the base of his skull and his lower back, and stares at Wanda, well mainly Wanda’s legs though he can detect the top of her head over her protruding knees. “Very limited.” He lowers his head back to the ground, angling his neck so that his left cheek is pressed against the plush blanket on the floor and he smiles at the sour expression on Billy’s face. “How much time is left?”

There is a disembodied shuffling somewhere up and to the left of him, presumably Wanda searching for her phone, and then an “Um, twentyish more seconds.”

“Thank you.” Slowly he lifts his head again, pressing his chest into the ground as he swivels his neck, bringing his right cheek onto the blanket. Tommy is valiantly struggling to move, face contorted with effort and arms flailing uselessly at his side as his butt wiggles in the air, but he doesn’t succeed, and the scrunch of his face and the appearance of his toothless gums can only mean one thing. Vision hurriedly starts to push his body up, hoping to pick Tommy up before the crying starts, but he freezes, realizing that he is flanked very closely by his sons and a wrong move means he might crush at least one of them.

Wanda happily chiming, “Time!” and Tommy’s piercing cry happen roughly simultaneously. When Billy joins the crying a second later, neither of the twins ever allowing the other to be alone in sorrow, the embarrassingly easy solution becomes apparent and Vision phases from the waist down, hovering with his legs dangling into the basement and his torso sticking out of the floor. Swiftly he picks up Tommy and begins swaying, a carefully fine-tuned rhythm he’s empirically determined to be the most soothing.  Wanda slides off the couch and bends to grab Billy, a low, gentle “It’s okay,” whispered as she kisses his forehead and then her voice takes on a playful, sing-song tone, “Did Daddy force you to do tummy time? What a meanie.”  

The retort building on his tongue includes several statistics about the efficacy of encouraging early muscle development and the reported relief most parents experience once their children are able to support their own heads, but it never gets past his lips, a four note chime ringing off the walls. Vision stops swaying, phasing the rest of his body up through the floor to stand and examine the room. “Wanda?”

The ringing occurs again, five times hurriedly in a row and they both pivot towards the front door. Wanda steps next to him, head leaning to the side as she continues to bounce on the balls of her feet to keep Billy content. “Are we expecting anyone?”

Vision shakes his head, adjusting Tommy so he is cradling him in just one arm yet still has the tiny body protectively pulled against his chest,  his other arm free as he approaches the door. He reaches out and turns the knob, angling his body to keep Tommy away from the door as a precaution in case of danger.

“Robo-son!” Tony flings his arms out, each one lined with identical red gift bags sprouting shimmering gold tissue paper, and flashes the trademark Stark smile. “Well hey there little man.” The two men stare at the wide-eyed, quiet baby and Vision realizes he’s unsure of the protocol: does he rotate his body to allow Stark to see the baby, does he step outside and join him on the porch, does he politely leave Stark at the door and inquire with Wanda if this visit is approved? “You know, son, these bags are deceptively heavy.”

The answer, it appears, despite his very tangible misgivings, seems to be to invite the man inside. “Of course,” Vision steps back, creating a perfectly sized opening for Tony to enter the door without their bodies having to touch. His free arm swoops to the left, inviting Tony further into the house with a, “Please have a seat.”  

Vision doesn’t dare make eye contact with Wanda until Tony is halfway to the living room throwing out a remark of “Love what you’ve done with the place,” and once Vision does catch her glare there is an oscillation of scarlet in her eyes and a _What is he doing here?_ silently, yet indignantly mouthed that goes along with her hand waving to indicate first her unwashed hair, then her pajamas (and he thinks she’s highlighting with a quick point that she’s braless), and then the dangerously calm baby in her arms. All Vision can manage is an equally silent _Sorry_ and a shrug before he quickly glides into the living room, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Wanda.

“So, Tony,” Wanda throws Vision one more glare before perking up her mouth into a believably affable smile, “how are you?”

A clearly well-rehearsed motion slides all of the gift bags from his arms onto the coffee table, the flick of his wrist to get rid of the last one as well-timed and effortless as one would expect from Tony. “Good, good,” the man remains standing, a nervous energy in the way he rocks back and forth, “just wanted to meet, you know,” he gestures towards the twins,  “the grandbabies. So which,” his fingers bounce back and forth, much like he’s directing a plane to take off, “is which?”

Wanda chuckles at the question, an action that leads to a raised eyebrow and a confused, though proud, smirk from stark. “This,” she lifts Billy’s head up, “is Billy.”

“Which makes that one,” Tony points in Vision’s direction, “Tommy. How do you know?”

“Their brain patterns are different,” Vision explains, although the slower than usual nod from Tony implies this explanation is not really satisfying the question, “and after confusing them one day we determined to paint their toenails different colors.” Gently Vision raises Tommy’s foot to display the turquoise, baby-safe nail polish on his big toe.

“Stylish.” An antsy rub of his hands kickstarts Tony’s body into its perpetual movement, stooping to rummage through the bags until he selects the two he wants. “Listen I brought them some stuff,” the two bags are dropped on the middle cushion between Wanda and Vision followed by an impatient wave of his hand, “you can open them.”

Wanda stares at the bag with only mild interest, lip raised in apparent disdain, “You cannot buy their affections.”

“Not my intention, buttercup,” if he notices her glare he doesn’t acknowledge it, “I just want these boys to understand I’m the cool,” the word is still difficult for him to wrap his mouth around as he half-chokes on, “grandparent.” Tony waves his hands at them again, “Now open.”

Vision looks to Wanda to ascertain the appropriate social response, understanding that gifts are meant to be opened in the presence of the giver so long as they do not say otherwise, but he’s never encountered the situation with an armful of baby. The fully unhelpful shrug and equally uncertain look on her face leads Vision to determine a course of action that he hopes is amenable to everyone. “Tony?”

The man tips his chin up with a quick, “What’s up?”

“Would you like to hold Tommy?”

The usual confidence on his face melts away, the searing terror of the offer pulling his lips down into a frown and sending his fingers into a frenzy of tapping as he eyes the quiet, unthreatening baby in Vision’s arms. “Um, sure?”

Vision stands, closing the distance between him and Tony, and waits for Tony to make some movement to indicate he is ready, but the man’s eyes stay on the baby. “If you do not wish to hold him it is not offensive to verbalize that preference.”

“What?” A shake of the head and Tony swallows down his terror, a warm smile coaxing his lips up as he lifts his arms, mimicking the angle and positioning of Vision’s. “No, I’m good, lay him on me.”  The transfer is awkward, not nearly as smooth as when he and Wanda trade off, though they have had two weeks to perfect the motion, but eventually Tommy is securely cradled in Tony’s arms. “Uh hey there, little dude.” Vision finds himself smiling, a surprisingly affectionate warmth blooming in his chest as he watches the one-sided exchange, noting the rare, genuine adoration in Tony’s eyes as he bops Tommy on the nose with a quiet “boop.”

The rustling of tissue paper breaks his observation, his eyes returning to the couch where Wanda is using her free hand to pluck the golden paper from a bag. Vision resumes his position on the couch and dips his hands into the other bag, the crisp yet soft paper tickling his palms as he grips a cloth object and phases it through the paper. He unfolds it and stares at a onesie with an extremely accurate depiction of the Mark XLIII armor.  “Thank you.”

Tony glances up from Tommy with a it’s-no-big-deal shrug, “Tried to find some accurate ones, all the knock offs are utter cra-,” he catches himself with a, “I know, language, Tony. Utter garbage? Yeah,” Tony nods approvingly, “that’s better. Anyway, had Pep start a new kids clothing line in Stark Industries, all proceeds will be funneled to different children’s charities.”

“That’s,” Wanda pauses, face torn between the apathetic disregard she typically holds towards Tony and something Vision might define as affection, “really sweet. Thanks.”

“I didn’t know what size they wear, so,” he tips of his head towards the other ten bags on the table, “bought two in every size so they can always be their favorite hero.”

Any affection that had existed dissipates from Wanda’s face with a deadpanned, “Really sweet.”

Tony smiles proudly, “Anytime. Now,” he cautiously lifts Tommy just a bit in the air for emphasis, “let’s get a picture of them in their new duds.”

The idea is not a horrendous one, it is in fact quite logical Tony would wish to see the boys wearing the new clothes, but Vision immediately perceives the flaw in the request. There has come to exist a ranked needs-based categorization system that determines when it is absolutely necessary to wrangle the flailing limbs and experience the angry tears that seem ingrained in the boys whenever they need a change of clothes. A photo opportunity does not register on Vision’s scale for torturing either himself or Wanda. “Perhaps,” Vision flashes a quick, reassuring smile towards his incredulous and irritated wife, “we can simply lay the onesies on the boys?”

“Whatever floats your boat, cinnamon roll.”

Vision guides Tony to the armchair, hands hovering underneath Tommy in case Stark does not take into consideration the adjustments needed when changing positions. Once he is safely seated, Vision turns to grab Billy, the transition far smoother than with Tony, Wanda’s hands automatically moving just enough to allow Vision the best angle and placement of his hands to cradle Billy. “Could you bend your arm a bit more?” Tony complies and Vision passes Billy over and then grabs the onesies, arranging them as best he can over their bodies to display the armor in a way that makes it recognizable. “I believe,” Vision lifts his phone, fingers dancing across the screen to open the camera app and select the best settings for indoor use on a cloudy day, “the term is ‘Say Cheese.’

Tony smirks, waiting for the flash to die down before he breaks his smile, “Let me see it.” A few clicks and the picture is pulled up, Vision holding the phone for Tony to scrutinize the image. “I’d be careful with this picture, son, that right there is going to burst a ton of ovaries.” Tony throws a wink at Wanda and the visceral revulsion scrunching her face, head shaking side to side with a slight shiver of her shoulders, causes Vision to smile.

“I shall be very judicious about sharing the picture.”

“Good, but definitely send it to the team.” A grin slithers across Tony's face before he focuses his attention back on the boys in his arms, his head tilting to the side as he studies their faces. “So do they do anything else?”

“Like tricks?” The tension of Wanda’s question is shattered by a rather forceful sound coming from Tommy, one that Vision and Wanda know well and immediately paints a mischievous grin on his wife’s face. “They do poop a lot.” The look of unmitigated disgust on Tony’s face and the way he immediately moves Tommy away from his chest is entertaining, though Vision does his best not to openly join in Wanda’s revelry of the situation.  “And you know Tony,” he makes eye contact with her and recoils slightly at her beaming smile, “we have a rule in the house that whoever is holding the baby when they poop has to change the diaper.”

Tony’s body ceases all movement, only his eyes trailing between Wanda, Vision, Tommy, and Billy before he coughs and glances at the clock above their mantle. “You know, I promised Pep I’d be back by four. Thanks for having me over.” Vision steps forward quickly to grab Tommy, passing the boy over to Wanda before he has to briskly walk to get Billy back, Tony’s body already developing a forward momentum towards the door with Billy still in his arms. Tony briefly stops to wave one more time before the smack of the wooden door against the frame ushers in a peaceful silence that is immediately filled by Wanda’s cackle.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Don’t be a spoil sport, Vizh.” The curl of her finger beckons him closer. As he bends down to kiss her she grabs his sweater and sweetly informs him, “you know since he’s your family, you get to change the diaper.”

 

 

Wanda doesn't allow him to dress the boys in the Iron Man onesies, insisting they have to wait for the opportune moment, which arrives three days later when a flimsy plastic envelope is deposited on their front porch. His hands gently squeeze the item, confirming it is not breakable. “Wanda, did you order something?”

Her “Yes,” is quick, scarlet enveloping the package and stealing it from his hands. Vision follows close behind the floating object, sitting on the armrest of the couch as he watches her tear open the package and remove two blue onesies with a star on the chest and a drawn on belt around the waist, emphasizing the fake abs in the design. The back of the onesies, he notes as she rotates them, have the emblematic shield as if it was strapped onto the wearer’s back. “The big question,” Wanda informs him while she continues to study the onesies, “is who gets to be Steve and who has to be Tony?”

“I do not understand why it must be phrased as if one is less desirable than the other.” Her raised eyebrows easily convey that what he’s just said is inherently idiotic. “Wanda,” it is a conversation they have had several times, always ending with Wanda’s unilateral determination that it’s not a big deal and they’ll deal with it later if it becomes an issue. “I do not wish to raise the boys with any innate animosity or bias, even towards Tony. It is imperative to carefully temper any disdain so it does not impact them adversely.”

She lowers the onesies onto the couch and walks over to him, fingers tracing his chest, following the flow of the vibranium plates, a playful pout on her lips. “But it’s Tony.”

“Once learned, prejudice is a deeply ingrained, automatic response,” a fact he feels Wanda should understand, given all they’ve faced and will, no doubt, continue to fight against for the duration of their lives, “we must strive to eliminate our own so William and Thomas may experience life without our bias.”

“You know that’s an impossible task, right?”

“I am fully aware.”

The facetiousness drops from her face as she sighs, “It’s just hard, you know, to view him differently.”  Wanda lays her head on his chest while her hands travel around his back, pulling him into a hug, which he reciprocates, arms falling securely around her shoulders as he kisses her head, breathing in the comfort of her presence despite his slight annoyance with her.

“I know, but he is trying very hard,” his fingers comb soothingly through her hair, enjoying the way her pleased sigh brushes against his skin, igniting a flurry of excitement in his heart. “The house.” Gently he tilts her head up, bending to press a kiss to her lips. “The hospital room.” Wanda smiles against his mouth the next time he kisses her and though it’s such a small action he realizes how much he’s missed this, this closeness and the ease of loving her, their lives too hectic, too filled with crying and far more bodily fluids than is comfortable to focus on a simple touch or smile or sigh. “He aided with our marriage license.” Wanda tugs his waist, moving him from the arm of the couch to the cushion, sitting on his lap and relocating her arms to his neck. “And,” he sorts through his examples to find the best one to end on, “a bank account that is far higher than our combined salaries should realistically allow.”

A diplomatic smile and a “Fine,” huffed into his mouth sends a tremor down his spine, “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Vision kisses her softly, hands rising to cup her face and deepen their connection, channeling his gratitude and sheer amazement at how wonderfully she’s handled their new life into the movement of his lips against her own.

A moment later a dissatisfied grumble rises from the baby monitor on the coffee table, a second whimper joining before the first ends. Wanda closes her eyes, a frustrated groan mingling with the frantic grunts from the monitor that eventually tumble over the edge to become full-on crying. “Really sets the mood.”

“Indeed, it is the melody of romance.”

“More like the earworm of too much romance.”

Vision grins, a quick peck to her cheek distracts her while he scoops his arm under her leg, the other braced around her back, and flies them through the ceiling. Wanda’s surprised _Ah!_ bounces off the walls of their bedroom, mixing with the wails of the boys from the travel crib next to their bed. “I will be back momentarily.” Quickly he fades back through the floor, grabbing one of the Captain America onesies from the couch, floating into the kitchen and then the laundry room before phasing up through the floor into the nursery, where he opens the top drawer of the dresser to find the Iron Man onesies. Once he phases through the bathroom wall, feet lightly tapping the ground as he half-walks, half-hovers along the tile, he makes his way back into the bedroom to find Wanda has already managed to change Billy’s diaper and is halfway done with Tommy’s. “I assume you had a plan when you ordered these?”

Wanda gives him a knowing smirk as she grabs the onesies and turns back to the boys. “Who wants to be Iron Man?” The red and gold outfit waves above their heads, Tommy completely uninterested in anything other than the ceiling and Billy’s tiny fingers gripping a pacifier that he’s happily sucking. “What about,” with a dramatic flourish the red, white, and blue onesie comes into view, “Captain America?”  The reaction is roughly the same though Tommy does blink and wave his hand which seems good enough to Wanda, “Okay, Captain Tommy and Iron Billy it is.”

It takes them forty minutes to get a semi-decent picture. First they have to quell the crying brought about by a change of clothes, then they argue over the placement of the babies on the bed, Wanda wanting the shot to be more antagonistic (“Let’s prop their arms to make it look like they want to punch each other.”) and Vision wishing to keep things civil (“Perhaps they can hold hands?”). Then Billy spits up all over himself, Tommy, and the comforter, which requires a second change of clothes, more crying, a new blanket on the bed, some gentle coaxing and the waving of a teddy bear to get both of the boys to look at the camera. But finally Vision, who is hovering above the bed for the best angle, catches a moment where the twins are looking roughly in his direction, Tommy’s eyes open and mouth flapping like a fish while Billy squints at him, tears still fresh on his face.

“Will this do?”

A scarlet cloud steals the phone from him, bringing it straight into Wanda’s grip, her fingers swiping through the array of pictures he snapped during the ordeal, ending back on the most recent one. “Oh yeah, that’s perfect!” A hurried clicking and the tip of her tongue peeking out of her lips is what he deems her texting face, he assumes she is sending the picture the same recipients of Stark’s text.

“Wanda?”

She glances up, an easy, breathtaking smile on her face, “What’s up, Maximoff?”

“Since Tony infringed upon the No Visitors Rule,” the agreement of no visitors was settled to allow them time to figure out how to live with the babies, but after Tony dropped by, Vision discovered an unexpected loneliness at the realization they have not physically interacted with anyone other than the pediatrician and each other in over two weeks. “I was curious if you would be amenable to inviting the team over?”

A _whoop_ sound emanates from the phone in her hands, a noise indicating a text has been sent out, and she tosses the device back to him, his fingers deftly wrapping around it. “Just did.”

 

The duster is half-raised, swiping left and then right with an easy rhythm, one that does not require Vision to look at the bookshelf he’s floating in front of, his attention drawn to the frantic scarlet trails trickling through the ceiling as Wanda moves around upstairs. The team will be arriving in, Vision checks the time and freezes, rechecking both his internal clock, the clock above the mantle, and the grandfather clock in the entryway. None can be correct, he hopes, adjusting his visual processor to zoom in on the oven clock, which confirms the other three.

Immediately he drops the duster, wrapping one arm snugly around Billy, who is resting against his chest in an elaborate contraption with far too many straps and buckles with a “Hold tight.” Vision flies through the house, following the aurora of scarlet until it stops, and then phases up into the nursery. “Wanda?”

“Holy shit, Maximoff!” The surprise in her voice quickly transitions into a strained threat in the emphasis she places on the _-off_. She turns her body towards him while keeping one hand on Tommy’s chest who is valiantly attempting to roll off the changing table.

“My apologies.”

Wanda collects her breath, composing herself with a partial smile and a tilt of her head that puts him on edge. “What’s up?”

“I believe all of our clocks are malfunctioning,” Vision checks the moon-shaped clock in the nursery as well, confirming it too seems to be wrong. “Based upon all available evidence the team will be arriving in less five minutes.”

A shake of her head and a sympathetic sigh grabs him by the collar and dangles him over the edge of a panic attack, the only thing holding him back is an official confirmation of his fears. “Time is not malfunctioning, Vision.”

The disconfirmation is deeply unsettling and he desperately searches back through the past two hours to determine how they went from getting an early start to being so far behind. The primary culprits are easily deciphered, three diaper changes, two feedings, a thirty minute crying session shared by the boys, and a volcanic eruption of half-digested milk all over both Wanda and himself that led to them taking turns in the shower. Perhaps fifteen minutes of the past two hours has actually involved cleaning and prepping for their guests. Vision floats closer to Wanda, working hard to temper the anxiety in his voice. “What are the most necessary actions from here?”

“Well Billy still needs to eat, get a new diaper, and put on clothes.” A list that easily takes twenty three minutes on a good day, but they now only have three minutes and forty six seconds. “So,” anxiously she runs her hand over Tommy’s head, shhhing his slightly perturbed grunts, “how about I’ll take Billy and you and Tommy wait for everyone downstairs?”

“Sounds good.” Vision quickly finds that removing Billy from the baby carrier is significantly more difficult than putting him in, each buckle that gets released seems to do nothing, some actually appear to make the carrier even more snug. The seconds race away as Vision continues to pat the cloth exterior, searching for the key strap to undo.

After multiple unsuccessful attempts he resigns himself to phasing the baby out but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a slightly amused, “Remember, we agreed on limited phasing until Helen gets back to us with her assessment. You already used your allotment for today.”

He’s not going to admit to her that he actually thinks he is one over his allotment. “I seem to have forgotten in my desperation.”

Wanda pats his shoulder again, placing Tommy in the crib so she can focus on helping remove the baby carrier, a frustrated “Why even have a buckle here?” and the unintentional tightening of the straps before she finally figures out the appropriate release mechanism. “There you go.” With Billy gone from his chest Vision allows himself to phase the rest of the carrier off, the cloth contraption falling in a pile on the floor as he steps to the crib to grab Tommy.  When he turns to leave a hesitant, “Vizh?” stops him.

“Wanda?”

“Do I,” her free hand flattens the pleats at the waist of her dress as she glances down, “look okay? I can only fit in my maternity clothes and it just feels embarrassing.”

A multitude of responses flash through his thoughts, each one carefully and quickly filtered to determine the most encouraging way to reassure her without his response seeming disingenuous, because she is, as usual, stunning. Vision hefts Tommy a bit higher, hand still supporting his neck but now he places their foreheads conspiratorially together. “Thomas what do you think of your mother’s outfit?” The amused eye roll and faint blush on Wanda’s face confirms the efficacy of the approach as he nods in feigned conversation. “Hmm, breathtaking? I am more inclined to say ravishing.”

Wanda flashes him a brilliant smile, bending to kiss Billy’s head with a “Silly daddy.”  The comment instantly fills him with a heart-bursting disbelief and euphoria, a combination that occurs each and every time she confides in the boys about him, even if it is about his ridiculousness. The doorbell chimes and Wanda shoos him out of the room.

They have lived in this house for just under two months, which in the grand scheme of life is infinitesimal, yet an odd nervousness prickles in his fingertips as he reaches for the doorknob, unsure what human nature dictates for the bonds of friendship once one side of the relationship has entered a new phase of life. Vision shakes away his nerves and opens the door, a friendly, “Hello,” cut off by instant _awwws_ and a few reciprocated _hellos_. The order of events is unclear to him, but he is aware that Sam and Helen hug him, Rhodes pats his back, Steve gives a nod, someone takes the baby leaving his arms empty, and Natasha says something to him. “My apologies. What did you say?”

Natasha places a friendly hand on his shoulder, stopping his body from turning to search for Tommy, and cocks her head to the side, a hint of delight in her eyes. “Breathe. Rhodes has the baby.” Now that she mentions it, Vision can easily make out the tiny feet hanging over Rhodes’ bent arm, a breath he did not realize was being held captive escapes at the discovery. “Good. First, Clint and Laura apologize, guess one of the cows is having babies right now. He said you all will have to get together soon. Second, where’s Wanda?”

“She is upstairs, feeding William.”

A quick, “Thanks,” and Natasha starts to head upstairs.

According to social etiquette he’s gleaned from observing reactions towards mothers in public Vision determined that, though it is perfectly acceptable for Wanda to feed the babies in front of him, society seems to frown upon the act occurring in front of anyone else. Something that baffles him, given it is a wholly natural process, but he does not wish to step on the toes of normative behavior. “Would you rather stay down here, Wanda is feeding him.”

Clearly such social rules do not apply to Natasha, something he tucks away to insert into his carefully constructed schema of parenting, because she simply quirks her eyebrow and says with utter seriousness and perhaps a bit of snark, “Not like I’ve never seen boobs before, Vision.”

Vision shrugs, turning to join the others in the living room, but stops at the sound of an ominous _caw-caw-caw_ and a methodical tapping. Slowly he backs up and stares down into the beady eyes of an impressively large raven on the porch. “Um, hello.”  Another round of _caws_ and the bird nudges a innately wrapped package, the golden paper etched with the runes of Asgard. Vision cautiously reaches around the bird to grab the package. “Thank you.” One more _caw_ and the bird is gone, Vision flips open the note tied to the package, _My sincerest apologies for missing the mirthful gathering of our friends._ He unwraps the gift as he shuffles into the living room, amusement flickering through his mind as he uncovers the royal gift.

“Where did you get those?” Sam is immediately at his side, reaching out to run his hand over the plush Mjolnirs in Vision’s hands.

Vision lifts one of the hammers, turning it to appreciate the small details that add a royal authenticity to the items. “It seems Thor wished the boys to have a token of their Asgardian heritage.”

“How sweet,” Helen grins up from the corner of the couch, a starry gleam in her eyes anytime the words Thor or Asgard are mentioned.

Sam rubs his hands together, an excited bounce developing in his body as he speaks, “Let’s see if your son is as worthy as you are.”

Everyone watches as Vision approaches Rhodes, the room falling silent as he coaxes Billy’s fist open and wraps his tiny fingers around the handle of the hammer, feeling the ever-present awe at the just how small their fingers are in comparison to the world around them. The hammer is held aloft for all of thirty five milliseconds before it falls down on Billy’s chest and Rhodes leads of a cheer of, “He is worthy!”

Which is when Wanda and Natasha arrive in the room, Tommy wrapped in Natasha’s arms with his head on her shoulder. Wanda shoots him a what-is-going-on look so he quickly explains the situation to bring both women into the fold of understanding, “Thor sent the boys matching Mjolnirs and Billy is,” he points to the hammer still on their son’s chest, “worthy.”

“I see.”

Vision finds himself torn between his next actions, an unpleasant nervousness and unease rising up that he has experienced far more than usual in the past two weeks. This time the dilemma involves his role as a host. Since it is their house and not the compound he is aware that he and Wanda are required to be cordial hosts, yet the team insisted they not prepare anything or fret over them since they have the twins. Everyone seems entertained, Wanda currently receiving hugs from their guests and making light conversation about the lack of sleep and general weariness of parenthood, but he decides he should perhaps fulfill the role of a gracious host just once so he eases his discomfort for the remainder of the night. “Would anyone like something to drink?”

Stares are passed around the group, the seemingly necessary action required at all parties where everyone has to challenge the others to be the first to make a decision. Luckily, and unsurprisingly, Sam turns on his brightest smile, “Sounds good, let me help you man.”

 _Let me help you_ actually translates into Sam guiding him towards the corner of the kitchen and insisting Vision rest while he gets everyone’s drinks, an easy going air in the way Sam keeps talking through the actions.”How are you doing with everything?”

“Oh,” Vision finds the question odd, far too broad for a detailed answer but also spoken in a way to suggest a general response is not acceptable, “It has certainly been different but I believe I am acclimating well.”

The _clink_ of bottle tops hitting the counter and glasses tapping as Sam shuffles them around with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dubious eyebrow raise makes Vision feel as if his response was not the desired specificity. His suspicions are confirmed when Sam leans his back against the counter, his arms crossing into what Wanda always labeled his therapist pose. “Different or difficult? Honestly, you look rough man.”

“I-,”

“Not in like a hobo-sort of way, you’re still rocking the business casual,” Sam qualifies with a sympathetic lift of his hands as a sign of no offense meant, “Just, never really seen you look this worn out, even including that week where Steve was gone and Nat had free reign.”  Both men share a pained laugh and shiver slightly at the memory, the Black Widow truly earning her name by creating specific drills for each of them to fully test their limits.

“The adjustment has been difficult,” he hesitates, picking out his words to convey the underlying cause without suggesting the changes in his life are unwanted, “I grew accustomed to a certain amount of alone time at night but it has all but disappeared. My mind is slower than usual.”

Sam squeezes his shoulder in understanding, “If you all ever need help, you know you can ask.” Which is such a simple suggestion yet Vision feels as if the limits of what could be defined as “help” create a dizzying amount of logistics that makes the offer rather empty.

“We will certainly do so.”

“Good.”  Vision moves to grab the drinks. “Before we go back, I, uh, got the boys something.”  Curiosity swells as he watches Sam pull a small plastic bag from his coat pocket. “It’s not nearly as cool as their other ones but figured they might like to be someone a bit more down to Earth, you know.”  

Vision opens the bag and pulls out two black onesies with a bird head on the front and red and gray wings on the back. “Thank you, I am sure they will cherish it.”

“Yeah they will, let’s get back in there.” They grab the drinks and head back into the room, Natasha and Rhodes still holding the twins and Steve halfway through a comment on yellow-eyed aliens. Sam barges expertly into the conversation, “Those guys were ridiculously hard to take down, damn mind control.”

The others chime in, complaining about all of the downsides of their latest mission, from the location (apparently the arctic and Sam forgot his cold-weather suit), to the timing (the alarm went off at 3am), to the quinjet (the left engine went out thanks to a laser beam from the ground), to more about the mind control equipped aliens. Wanda slides her hand into his, fingernails grazing his skin as she leans into him to whisper, “I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Me neither.” 

Instead of the relieved smile that usually goes with such an admission, her lips droop just enough to be described as a half-hearted frown. “It’s weird, that they’re still doing missions and we’re changing diapers.”

There is an increasingly tangible disconnect between their current lives and what the lives of the other Avengers entail, even Helen adds to the conversation, explaining how the cradle was so overworked repairing their injuries she had to turn it off for a week to give it a break. It’s not unpleasant, per se, but the uncomfortable itch of his powers and the will he has had since his inception to fight for life seem to cry out in despair at his lack of saving the world when it is clearly still in trouble. “It is extremely weird.”

Wanda squeezes his hand. “Do we just let them hold the boys, or do we take them back at some point.”

“I have no idea.” This time there is a relieved smile on her face.

Rhodes draws them back into the conversation, “Look at you two and the parent sway.”

“I,” Wanda glances around the room, sending Vision a confused stare that he can only match with his own bewilderment, “don’t know what that is.”

The explanation is offered up by a smirking Natasha, “You’re both swaying like you’re holding a baby.”

Vision removes his attention from everyone else and is surprised to find that yes, his body is swaying and that if Wanda were standing still he should be bumping into her, which means her own body is moving to the same tempo. “Fascinating.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Wanda lets go of his hand to still her body, looking down at her feet as if they have betrayed her.

“Clint always drove me crazy with it on missions,” all attention goes back to Natasha, “one time we got caught in a motion detection trap and he just starts swaying and claimed he couldn’t help it.”

The conversation continues, but Vision finds himself lost, his awareness always acutely honed in on where the twins are at all times and gauging whether or not the person holding either one is beginning to show signs of fatigue or discomfort. Wanda has whispered in his mind several times to calm down, but he can feel her own unease whenever the babies are passed off and the overwhelming comfort that waltzes through her synapses when she gets the boys back for brief periods of time. At the moment Helen is stiffly holding Tommy, an inquisitive scrunch of her nose and a deliberate waving of her finger over the boy’s face. Vision determines this might require his intervention and begins moving until Wanda grabs his arm. “Rhodes has something for us in the kitchen.”

“But I wish to speak with Helen.”

Wanda glares at him a terse, "This will be really quick," and his resistance slackens as she pulls him towards the kitchen where Rhodes has a gift bag on the counter. “So I know you have the Iron Man, Captain America, Falcon, and Black Widow onesies.”  

The last one is new to Vision but Wanda seems in the know with her, “We do.”

“Right, so I could be like the rest of our supremely humble teammates,” Vision determines now is not the time to point out that Wanda bought the Captain America outfits, “but I figured the boys might want to be their favorite heroes, so I asked Pepper to have these designed.”

They share a sideways glance before Wanda tosses the tissue paper to the side, tears pooling in her eyes as she gasps and turns to show Vision the gift. In her right hand is a hanger with black pants, a scarlet shirt, and a long scarlet jacket, while her left shows him a perfectly textured and detailed replica of his own suit, including a cape design on the back of the shirt. Vision runs a finger along his tiny uniform, “They are wonderful.”

The onesies are crushed against Rhodes’ back as Wanda hugs him, “Thank you so much.”  Her hand wipes away tears as she steps back, a broad, exuberant smile on her face.

“You’re welcome, though let me warn you,” an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head concerns Vision, but Rhodes continues to smile through the warning, “my niece loved me being an Avenger until she turned twelve, now she tells me that War Machine is a stupid name and I’m just a knock-off Iron Man. So enjoy their hero worship while you can.”

A cry from the other room sets his feet moving before he realizes what is happening, any sign of discomfort from the twins always lassoing him and expertly maneuvering him to until he can satisfy whatever has upset them. This leads him back to Helen who is frozen with indecision, managing a desperate “Shh, it’s okay,” followed by an even more desperate, “What’s wrong, what did I do?”

Vision settles on the couch next to her and motions for Tommy, the crying softening once their eyes meet, Vision sending his irises in a evenly paced twirl that finishes the task of calming his son, a contented gurgle replacing the cries. “You are a natural.”

Whereas admitting personal information to Sam was difficult, Helen’s presence in his life has always instilled in him sense of safety and a brilliant mind to critically analyze any issues he is having and offer solutions. She was instrumental in his attempts to woo Wanda and even more involved (sometimes, he thinks, to her discomfort) with the conception of the twins. “That particular tactic only has a 52.83% success rate, it is not statistically different from chance.”

“Yet you still try?”

Vision shrugs, smiling as Tommy grips his finger, exerting a feather-light pressure against his vibranium bones, “It is more reassuring to believe I have some control.”

“How very unscientific of you.” The sound of her laugh is delightful, a mixture of refinement and a subtle rebellious edge, it puts him more at ease, a close-mouthed grin tugging at his lips. “How is their development? I was testing out the various reflexes but he seemed resentful when I got to the Moro reflex.”

Vision nods, “Neither of them enjoy being startled.”

“Evolutionarily unsurprising.”

“Indeed,” he bends his finger, placing his knuckle at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and traces it up along his cheek, Helen leaning over with interest as she watches Tommy open his mouth and follow Vision’s finger. “It took Tommy significantly more time to develop rooting which was quite difficult on Wanda. Billy had no trouble with it.”

Helen brings her finger to Tommy’s face and grins as he chases her finger as well, “It is fascinating how babies are programmed with so many survival tactics. What about,” she stands and moves to Vision’s other side, bending low to study the bottom of the boy’s feet before she draws her finger along his sole and watches as his toes fan out as if being tickled. “Great Babinski reflex. How did you all cope with the 10-day growth spurt?” This is information he does not recall sharing in their daily texts and clearly his face shows it, “I just assumed it happened, I downloaded an app that keeps me updated on their developmental milestones.”

“Is it the one with rain clouds and suns?”

“Yes.”

“That is the one I utilize as well, it has been quite accurate so far.” It is strange, he finds, that this conversation has been the easiest of the night, how suddenly all the other ones about what has been happening at the compound while they’ve been gone or what they have been doing at home have felt so lonely. He concludes it is likely because the conversations are inherently one-sided, neither side fully understanding the other. Yet Helen’s scientific inquiry and unabashed excitement at the little milestones is refreshing. “The growth spurt,” he pauses as he thinks back to the three days where the twins wanted to eat roughly every 30 minutes, of Wanda cycling between crying and sleeping on the couch, resigned to a fate of constantly feeding their sons. All Vision could do was offer support and nourishment for Wanda, whisking away the boys for the brief moments where they weren’t demanding food to give Wanda a much needed break. “It was perhaps one of the most difficult hurdles thus far, I,” a sheepish cringe pulls at his mouth, “worried it was not a phase and that we would be consigned to that schedule for an unimaginable duration. An irrational worry in retrospect.”

Helen shrugs off his comment with a matter-of-fact, “It can be argued the increase in irrational fears serves yet another evolutionary function to ensure biological parents are vigilant of danger.”

A sudden squawk of despair from the right leads everyone to look at Steve, who is holding Billy as far from his body as possible and whose shirt is drenched in thick, acrid spit-up. “Can someone help me?”

Wanda rushes to take Billy and heads out of the room to grab a towel while Sam grins at Steve, snapping a picture and tapping at his phone. Five seconds later a cacophony of noise fills the room as they all receive texts with the pictures. The spit-up attack seems to usher in the end of the visit, someone, Vision thinks it was Natasha, saying they probably should leave so the boys can go to sleep and so that Steve can change or else they’ll have to weaponize the rancid smell of his shirt.

 

Later that night, once the boys have been changed, fed, and rocked to sleep, Vision placing them in the crib with the same level of care he uses when dealing with volatile radioactive substances, he finds Wanda on the couch, legs curled underneath her, a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table and a book in her hands.  Vision approaches slowly, taking in the serenity of the scene, ignoring the cups and plates from their get together. His hands land on her shoulder, kneading slightly at the tension in her muscles as he kisses her head. “What are you reading?”

An intricate metal bookmark (one Wanda had gifted to him several years ago) is placed in the pages before she shuts the book and smiles up at him, head tilting back and drawing him down for a short, sweet peck. “Natasha gave it to me earlier, it is a collection of Sokovian fables.” She hands the book to him as he phases through the couch, coming to sit next to her and relishing the way her body shifts to snuggle into his side, her eyes watching him as he runs his hands over the book cover.

There is no title, simply a navy cloth cover with gold threading of a witch over a cauldron. He is careful to open the book, certain it might fall apart if he moves too fast, and flips reverently through the pages, mesmerized by the brilliant colors of the paintings for each story. He stops at a title page, testing the words on his tongue before speaking them out loud, Wanda always quick to poke fun at the way his accent butchers the language. “Kako je Potjeh tražio istinu.”

“You’re getting better,” a light kiss to his cheek softens the backhanded compliment, “do you know what it says?” Before he can answer she guides his face towards hers, a knowing smirk crawling up her cheeks, “without using a translation website. Whenever you do that you always overlook whether it is vocative or nominative which-”

Vision grins at her, “Which drives you crazy, I am aware.” The words taunt him on the page as he closes off his connection to the internet, knowing full well the temptation to use such tools while exhausted would be too strong to fight. “As Potja was seeking truth?”

“Close, it’s How Quest Sought the Truth.”  The book disappears from his hands, a radiant joy surrounding her as a tendril of scarlet brings the tea to her mouth while she reads. “Oh, almost forgot,” another strand of red reaches into the foyer and places yet another gift bag in his lap, “Helen left this for the boys. My guess is lab coats.”

A small, folded up piece of paper rests on top of the white tissue paper. Vision smooths out the creases while he reads over the handwritten note, brows descending in curiosity as he reads it again,

_Imaginative play and emulating appropriate role models (i.e. heroes) is important, but it is just as vital to identity formation to perceive yourself as an individual. Hope this helps._

_P.S. Don’t judge my craftsmanship._  

_Love,_

_Helen_

His fingers itch with excitement as he pulls the paper out, deliberately folding each piece into squares as he works his way to the bottom. Slowly he removes two carefully wrapped bundles. “Would you like to open one?”

“Sure.” The bundle in his right hand is tossed to Wanda who freezes it in the air with her powers while she places the book and tea on the table.  Wanda rips into the paper while Vision carefully plucks at the tape, even though she reaches the contents before him, she waits until he’s done so they can inspect the gifts together. “What are they?”

The outfits are similar yet just enough individuality to easily differentiate them so no one would accuse them of dressing the twins the same. Each outfit has a cape, cut much like Vision’s own but a scarlet that perfectly matches Wanda’s uniform. The bodysuits are where the differences become apparent, the outfit in Vision’s hands a deep green with white lines mimicking the ones on Vision’s own suit. The other suit is a bluish gray in the shoulders and down the torso, navy panels along the sides and arms in contrast. “Helen wanted them to be their own heroes.”

“They’ll have plenty of help getting there, if that’s what they want to be.”

“Yes, they will,” Vision glances over the accumulated onesies from the night, a wave of relief washing away his anxiety from the evening at the knowledge of how, though their lives have diverged significantly, the unwavering support of their team, their family he corrects himself, still exists. “Wanda?”

The book is lowered to her lap again, “Hmm?”

“Do I look rough?”

Wanda squints, pupils dilating as she studies his face, “If by rough you mean tired, yes.”

The disappointment in his, “Oh,” parts her lips into an amused grin.

“I like to think it’s the same achievement as our parental sway, just means we’re doing something right, I hope.” Her smile broadens and her hand comes to rest on his chest, moving in soothing circles between the plates of vibranium. The reasoning is not the most logical or scientifically satisfying, yet he finds it doesn’t matter, his mind quickly latching onto her words and accepting them as he settles deeper into the couch, eyes closing as she continues to rub his chest.  

For the first time in a long time he falls asleep, babies and visitors too exhausting even for a synthezoid to handle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Anya both for the idea of the competing outfits but also for invaluable help with bringing in more authenticity for creating Sokovian culture. 
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and have a wonderful day! :)


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